


Force of Nature

by Snarkoleptic



Series: Snark on the Kink Meme [7]
Category: Dragon Age
Genre: BAMF, Combat, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-24
Updated: 2011-12-24
Packaged: 2017-10-28 01:21:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/302167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Snarkoleptic/pseuds/Snarkoleptic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hawke is caught unaware with a poison-coated dart before the battle with the Crows is joined on the Wounded Coast.  Isabela falls back on her days as a captain and responds with the force of a maelstrom.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Force of Nature

**Author's Note:**

> Seriously, what is it with me and the BAMF prompts?
> 
> The prompt:
> 
>  _The woman was a captain, on a successful pirate ship, for years. She taught the Hero of Ferelden new tricks. Many of her crew were absurdly devoted to her (that guy in the Pearl in particular is hilariously fawning). She snuck, fought and finagled her way through an entire city of Qunari by herself. She is, per that pirate guy in the DLC, not just a person, but a force of nature. But on land, she follows Hawke's lead, so we don't really get to see her in action._
> 
>  _So let's fix that, anons? Put Hawke down for the count and surprise the hell out of the others when Isabela takes charge and saves them all, or show us a good day on the Siren, or have her break Bethany out of the Gallows for Marian's Nameday present, or whatever you like. Just put a bit of that pirate queen BAMFery out there for everyone to be in awe of._
> 
> And now the fill. Reviews and comments are always welcome!  
> 
> 
> * * *

Of all the caverns in all the land, I had to walk into _his_.  Not that I mind seeing him again, certainly, and Marian was just this week agreeing it might be fun to let someone _else_ do the work for us a time or two.  And he _will_ be in our debt, after we confront this Nuncio of the many last names out on the coast.

Not that the Zevran of my experience would view that as payment, of course.

I love coming out here every bit as much as I hate coming out here.  The smell of the sea air brings so much back to me, all of it action of one sort or another and none of it boring.  Ah, well, time enough for remembering later, as Marian is giving us silent signals now.  She wants the mages up on a small ridge, separated from what she’s sure to be a battle by a shelf about ten feet high.  I _suppose_ it’s sound thinking to send me along to make sure they haven’t trapped it, them being Crows and all, but I’m not all that keen on having myself separated when the fighting starts.

Nothing to do, then, but do it. 

I hear Marian calling out something smart about having confused her instructions as regards her original target.  I do wonder if it’s possible for that woman to ever deliver a straight line.  At the edge of my vision, I glimpse Zevran dealing with an early riser – nice throw, too; I have to admire it.  Wait.  Wait.  What’s this now?  A trio of crows with blades are ranging out toward the cliff, as if they plan to climb it.  Ha.  Not happening.

Nuncio has just lifted a hand in signal, one Zevran apparently recognizes as he motions Marian to drop low even as he plants himself in the dirt.  Of course she doesn’t see this, and ends up with a dart in her neck.  Oh, _shit_.  Zev regains his feet and picks up a bit of the poison from the dart’s point to smell, gesturing my way that it’s only a sleeping formula.

This does not make me any happier.  Slapping the mages on the arm, I tell them in a tone that brooks no argument to deal with the archers in the distance while I go about my own business.  These bastards have no _possible_ idea who they’ve just pissed off.

Without a second thought, I bring my daggers to hand and tilt forward from the ledge, rolling once on the descent and catching myself on the shoulders of the middle man, forcing him to the ground under my weight.  Before the others can react, my blades are slashing out beside me, scoring the thighs of the Crows on either side.  Pulling them free, I bury them quickly in the neck of the man beneath me.

A fast reverse of that momentum brings my daggers round from the front to find purchase in the bellies of the other two, and with a quick jerk inward I’m satisfied they’ll bleed out before they can blink.  Fortunately, the lot out by the fire were distracted by my work with these three and haven’t yet paid mind to Zevran, who is currently grinning his approval in my general direction.  With a thrust of my chin my command is given, and we’re both running toward the group gathered at the fire.

Diving low and rolling under the weapons, the elf and I come to our feet, both facing outward and ready for a fight.

“I do not believe we have ever stood back-to-back, my dear,” I hear him purr.  “I must admit, I had envisioned a much different reunion.”

Parrying a strike from one of the three before me, I rejoin with, “Time enough for front-to-front later, my dear.  Stabbing with steel will have to do for now.”

The sound of the odd fireball from Anders igniting in the distance, or the hum of Merrill’s lightning overhead, punctuate the screams from the brush up the coast and the singing of blade-on-blade as Zevran and I dance and dodge, weave and parry, striking whenever anything vital presents itself as a target.  Our slow turn about at the center of our circle gives me the impression that four of the nine have fallen, and we’ve yet some way to go.

Presently, the trill of my name on Merrill’s voice reaches my ear as I feel the familiar crackle in the air.  “Zevran?”

“Yes, my deadly goddess?”

“The tide that came in must now go back _out_.  Quickly.”

Pressing off from his back as he does from mine, we dive again under the blades of our opponents, rolling clear of the melee just in time to avoid the lightning storm Merrill has summoned.  Turning to face the battle, I see the electricity has managed to paralyze the men off and on, their movements coming in fits and starts as they try to free themselves from the tempest.

Glorious.

Zevran has the same idea that occurs to me, and we are shortly divested of our throwing knives, each easily dispatching a pair of the men.

As the last thunderclap echoes into silence, Nuncio is the only one standing – only just, at that.  Zevran presses in from behind as I saunter up in front of him, fixing to my face a sneer worthy of the highest git in Hightown.  As I approach I see Anders moving down from his ledge, healing magic at the ready to see to Marian.

“Shame I haven’t a bow to dangle you from.  A little slice will have to do.”  My dagger finds its home in his gut, something he has only a second to wonder about before Zev’s blades close in from behind and rake across his throat.

“Well,” Zevran gusts out.  “That was bracing.  Nothing like a little bloodbath to get the blood moving.”

“You couldn’t have saved one for me?”  Marian’s voice, sounding none the worse for wear.  Of course she had a good nap.

“My dear,” I glance back with a gesture at Zev and a speculative look in my eye.  “I did.”


End file.
